I have to make another viral meme. I will make a viral meme and then I will advertise my readings in the same post. This will work.

Subtropical has been a great muse recently, so I decide to head over there. Walking will probably spark my imagination. Walking does good things for the brain. All the greats walked: Thoreau. Virginia Woolf. Beethoven.

Me.

I kiss Lydia on the forehead and head out the door, scurrying quietly past Marta’s unit.

It’s cloudy out, which thrills me. It’s never cloudy in Southern California. I often fantasize about moving to Portland or Seattle, where it’s cloudy all the time. But I can’t get cast in a movie in the Pacific Northwest. Although it’s not like I am being cast in LA either.

I turn on OK Computer and think about what type of music Beau listens to. He photographs musicians, which I know from his website, which I’ve now visited a freakish number of times. He seems to photograph mostly hip-hop artists, and I hate rap. But maybe I could learn to like it. Walking down Hollywood Boulevard, I wonder what happened to Beau last night. He probably just got tired and went home. It’s not like we had plans to meet up or anything. I keep having to remind myself we’ve never met.

I start thinking about memes. My most popular memes have all been kind of cruel. Most successful memes are kind of cruel. I try to lean into my hangover and think mean thoughts. I laugh thinking about how Thomas thought I was going to give him a blow job. I will do a mean meme about Sagittarians, the most delusionally optimistic sign in the zodiac.

I sit at my normal table at Subtropical, and the hot waiter brings me a black coffee without me having to say anything. I open my laptop and start scrolling my Instagram Explore page. I won’t steal another meme—not worth it—but I will browse for inspiration. Just as I am starting to zone out, I hear my name.

“Emily?”

I look up. It’s the girl from the day before, the Libra. I smile weakly in her direction.

“I can’t get over that reading from yesterday,” she says. “It was so freaky accurate. I sent it to my boyfriend, and he was shook.”

“Does he want one?” I ask. “Maybe I can shake him too.”

Jess cackles, then says, “I’ll ask him!”

“Okay,” I say. “Let me know. I’ll just be working.” I put on my headphones to signal for her to stop talking to me.

On Instagram, I search the hashtags #dumb and #idiot. I’m not finding anything too inspiring. Teens being “goofy.” Florida Man memes. Some sort of “fail” involving a tractor.

After fifteen minutes or so, I feel some taps on my shoulder. It’s the Libra again.